Force of Destiny
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This is the new version of the chapter - I noticed I actually had a continuity error (darn!). You guys have been just too polite to point it out to me, right? :)
On with the story...
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Force of Destiny
Chapter 29
Padmé – Part one
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Summary:
An accident reveals an old deception, and Darth Vader must make a decision that will change not only his life.
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"Ani? Meesa not believin' dis! Meesa tinkin' yousa dead!"
The Gungan rushed past Piett and enveloped a dumbstruck Darth Vader in a bone-crushing hug.
"Ani?" an incredulous Admiral Piett mouthed before recovering with an effort.
A number of Stormtroopers brought their weapons up in a reflex, but did not dare shoot for fear to hit Lord Vader. The next moment, General Veers gestured to them to hold their fire. The white armored men lowered their blasters again, equal parts embarrassed about overreacting and ill at ease with an alien manhandling the Dark Lord.
Several crewmen had difficulty keeping a straight face, and somewhere in the ranks, Sergeant Torb Garin snickered.
Vader himself didn't fare much better, if for different reasons. "Jar Jar?" he managed after several choked attempts. "Let me go, you're breaking my ribs!"
The Gungan did as he asked, after a final squeeze that left Anakin completely out of breath. He blinked at his Jedi friend. "Ani, where is Lord Vader? Everyone here bein' so expectin' him."
"Jar Jar", Anakin answered, slowly and carefully. "He's me. I am Darth Vader."
The Gungan let him go as if he had burned his hands. His eyestalks were extended so much they looked like they were going to break off. "No! Ani! Yousa makin' fun of old Jar Jar, right?"
"No, Jar Jar, I'm afraid I'm not. It's a long story. I'll tell you everything late."
The thoroughly shocked Alliance representative could only nod.
Piett stepped forward and cleared his throat. The strict Imperial military protocol had been shot to hell by the Gungan's emotional display, and the Admiral felt a little like someone had pulled the floor out from under his feet.
"Sir, I take it you know our liaison officer, General Binks?"
It took nearly all of Vader's self control not to burst out laughing. Piett's feelings regarding the Gungan where written all over the Admiral's features for anyone who could read him as well as Vader could.
"You could say that, Piett. Jar Jar Binks is an old friend... a very old friend." He lifted a finger in warning and raised his voice just enough for the crewmen to hear his next words. "Do not let his relaxed demeanor fool you. The Gungans are fierce warriors, if need be. And General Binks has greatly distinguished himself in the Trade Federation war."
Piett wisely decided to change the subject: "Milord, on behalf of the crew, welcome back."
Vader was visibly moved.
"Piett." The former Sith shook his head. "You have done the impossible, Admiral."
Solemnly, he saluted Admiral Piett while Solo, Luke, and their friends gathered behind him. It took Piett a moment to return the salute; he would never have expected Vader to honor him like this. Truth be told, he would not have known what to expect.
Vader held the salute until Piett returned it. He could sense pride rising in the men standing at attention. He turned slowly to face the honor guard and let his gaze sweep over them.
"Gentlemen, I am truly overwhelmed. When I left this ship, I never expected you to follow me. I am proud of you."
Vader inclined his head.
"Crew dismissed", Piett commanded. The honor guard executed an about-turn and filed out. "Captain Antilles, please stay."
Wedge Antilles, commanding officer of the infamous rogue squadron, nodded and stood next to Piett.
"Admiral", he acknowledged.
Piett turned to Anakin. "Not all the crew have chosen to defect with us, Milord."
"I was about to ask you how you did it, Piett. I have never even heard of a capital ship going over to the Alliance."
Piett cleared his throat; this was the part he felt uncomfortable with. "Milord, I relayed the message you left for us to the crew and gave my intention to defect, with the ship. General Veers stood with me. We allowed everybody the choice between staying on board, or leaving ship. I am happy to say that the majority chose to stay on board Executor. Still, we were somewhat shorthanded. The Alliance provided us with a prize crew I hope to integrate. Captain Antilles here commands Rogue squadron and represents the fighter pilots stationed with us."
"Captain." Vader inclined his head in greeting. Antilles did the same, winking at Luke who stood behind and slightly to the right of Vader. As small as the gesture was, Vader still caught it and threw a questioning glance at Luke. His son grinned back.
"Let us dispense with the formalities." Luke stepped forward. "I'm Luke Skywalker, Admiral, and these are my friends: Master Yoda, Princess Leia Organa, Captain Han Solo and his first mate Chewbacca, and I believe you have met Wrenga Jixton." Luke indicated everybody in turn.
Anakin smiled. "What my son is trying to tell me in a not so subtle way is that we are being expected on the Alliance's flag ship."
"There is that", Luke nodded. "I believe High Command is becoming rather impatient by now."
***
Padmé Naberrie Skywalker paced the length of the conference room, turned with her formal robes swishing about her, and stood, a frown marring her face.
"You should have never allowed Darth Vader to return to his ship, Admiral", the diminutive former senator spoke with a voice like frozen steel.
"It was vital for the morale of Executor's crew, madam. We have no wish to turn our new allies into enemies again."
"Ackbar is right, Padmé. Let it rest."
Padmé glared at the speaker; Mon Mothma appeared as calm and unperturbable as ever. A far cry from the emotional storm Padmé had to weather. Soon, she would be in the presence of her husband's murderer. After more than twenty years, she would finally see the monster who had slaughtered Anakin. And there was nothing she could do to avenge her husband, when nothing she wanted more was to see Vader suffer for what he had done. Damn the war. Damn the politics that made her allies with Palpatine's lapdog. Padmé wanted to scream. Instead, she took a few long, calming breaths.
"You are right, of course. We do what we have to do." Her voice sounded bitter even to her own ears, but who could blame her for that?
"Ships approaching from the Executor, one Corellian freighter, one Lambda class shuttle, and two TIE's."
Mon Mothma approached the comm unit that had so suddenly sprung to life.
"Thank you. Extend our greetings to Lord Vader's shuttle and their escort, and give them landing permit for the main docking bay. We shall be there momentarily."
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The Lambda class shuttle glided into the main docking bay, followed by the Falcon and one of the TIE's. The other fighter turned around and headed back to the Executor. All three ships set down lightly just as Mon Mothma and her entourage, consisting of Admiral Ackbar, General Madine, and Padmé Naberrie, entered the bay. Both the shuttle and the Falcon lowered their ramps, and Mothma, followed closely by her group, strode towards the former Imperial ship when the TIE's top hatch popped open and out climbed a familiar tall figure clad all in black. The welcome committee stopped short; at least Padmé was seething at Vader's use of the same ruse she had employed many years ago. Luckily, the Dark Lord had not noticed her yet, her slight form being blocked from his view by the taller President of the Rebel Alliance.
"Forgive the dramatics, Madam President", Lord Vader rumbled from his perch atop the TIE. Reaching down into the cockpit, he slipped something over his helmeted head and threw his trademark black cloak around his shoulders.
Meanwhile, Admiral Piett walked down the shuttle's ramp and, bowing to the Alliance officials, explained: "I advised Lord Vader not to use the shuttle, Madam."
A small smile tugged at Mothma's lips. "A wise decision, Admiral, though I believe that particular tactic has been used before." She threw a glance at Padmé. The former Queen of Naboo and Member of the Senate stood stiffly, pale features carefully schooled into a neutral expression. Still Mothma could sense her hatred and contempt for Vader roll of her in waves. With her past history, Mon Mothma would have preferred not to have the other woman around just yet, but there was no shutting out Padmé from the proceedings.
Vader nimbly climbed down the fighter's wing and walked over while the Falcon's crew and passengers also joined the group. He didn't even have time to bow to Mon Mothma before he spotted the smaller woman standing behind her and slightly to the left – and Padmé, in turn, spotted the necklace he wore. It was not much of an adornment, really. Just a small carved Japor snippet. Vader froze. Padmé, however, advanced on him like a gundark on wounded prey. Gone was the false calm, replaced in a moment by a fury so hot it could have melted steel.
"How dare you?" she hissed. "How dare you mock my husband by wearing that?"
The Dark Lord of the Sith suddenly seemed to sway on his feet; Mon Mothma could have sworn, if he had not been wearing a helmet, the expression on his face would have been one of helpless and utter surprise.
"Padmé?" Vader finally croaked, his breathing becoming more labored and irregular by the second. Now here was a ridiculous thought – the dreaded Lord of the Sith looking like he was going to faint any second now, and that state was brought on by the wrath of a slip of a woman who barely came up to his chest plate.
Padmé reached up to Vader's chest, and for a moment there it looked like she was about to slap him, but instead, she tore the necklace from him, turned, and fled.
Behind her, Leia Organa muttered: "Padmé? Mother? Oh, by the Force..." with her hand covering her mouth and eyes big as saucers, while Darth Vader's legs buckled under him. The man was positively hyperventilating by now, and Han Solo caught his arm just in time to help him sit on the deck instead of crashing to the floor unceremoniously. With numb fingers, Vader fumbled to remove his helmet.
Luke pushed his way to the front. "Are you alright, father?" asked, concern coloring the young Jedi's voice.
A sharp intake of breath then came from Mon Mothma as she stared at the pale, sweat-covered face of the former Sith.
"Skywalker? Anakin Skywalker?" she managed to say. "But that is impossible... you were reported dead years ago. Dead by the hands of Darth Vader."
"Not impossible at all, Madam", Luke answered for him. "Please meet my father, Anakin Skywalker, better known as Darth Vader."
Anakin looked up at his son, although his eyes refused to fully focus.
"Luke, that was Padmé", he managed in a not to steady voice after a few attempts. "Your mother."
Now it was Luke's turn to be speechless, and Han Solo, still crouched at Vader's side, blinked, adding two and two and indeed getting the correct result of four. A rather silly grin spread over the smuggler's face.
"I have a bad feeling about this..." he murmured.
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To be continued...
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